Merry Christmas.

The lights in the streets, the shop windows’ displays and the decorations in the students’ dorms are clear: Christmas is coming in Cardiff.
People spend more time than usual in Queen Street, taken by that sort of retail frenzy that seems to be coming earlier and earlier every year.

I won’t be drawn into the argument – as old as Christmas itself – of how festivities are losing their true meaning (religious, social and emotional) in the name of the need-to-have: 23 years of life in this part of the World have been enough to root in my mind the – extremely cynical, I dare to admit – concept that winter holidays are just a capitalistic bonanza meant for us to donate more money to our corporate guard-angels.

And, consciously running the risk to making myself unpopular to the (three) readers of these pages, I hereby declare that this is completely fine for me. If the ancient Romans were happy to live with recurrent pandemics and mandatory conscription as long as they had their panem et circences, I am willing to accept the fact that my fellow 21st century spoiled Westerners – or at least a significant bulk of them – can be content with two-three weeks of exaggerate celebrations, unnecessary overeating and raging present exchanging.

It is relieving, if only for one moment, to think that everything can be good.
Even if it is inherently false.

Persecution

I walk down the street and meet one of my coursemates, strolling (romantically?) with one of the school personnel.

I sit in a pub to have dinner with my parents, and here come two of my teachers, several members of the personnel and random people from Bute Building to have a few rounds of drinks.

I go to a cafè to have a cappuccino, and the waitress is another of my coursemates.


I suppose the next step will be starting to dream about this MA in my sleep.

Welcome

This is a custom, friendly, welcome message.

Predictable, isn't it?

But indeed life is made of predictable stuff. You are more than likely to be born, grow, fall in love, grow a family, and at a certain point in time, die.
And (except from falling in love and growing a family) you are 100% sure to do the stuff above.

So, to flee predictability, all we have to do is fill in the gaps between those steps with some crazy stuff, a few (more than few) hangovers and some quality things you will be extremely ashamed of the morning after. Oh and a bit of feelings too.

Having said this, again welcome to the Orange Box.
Read it, enjoy it, and use the provided dustbins for all the trash.

Will



Post Scriptum.

I have just realised that my ever-friendly welcome message reminds you that - eventually - death awaits us.
Welcome, memento mori!

Now, if this isn't unpredictability.